


days with nothing but laughing loud

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drugs, Fluff, Smoking, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Steve and the reader smoke (that's it, that's the fic)
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	days with nothing but laughing loud

**Author's Note:**

> this is a completely self-indulgent fic that I literally wrote while smoking but its canon that our boy is a fan of the green so!! im having my fun!!

You take your job as weed hook-up very seriously. As Steve’s mom is like a drug hound for the stuff, he can’t keep any in the house, and though you’ve told him over and over he doesn’t need to pay you, you always leave with a fiver stuffed in your pants pockets after a smoke session.

You climbed up the drain on the side of his house - after so many years of climbing, even before you smoked together, you and Steve have messed with it to make it easier to climb - and slid onto the slats of the roof, pushing yourself to your feet and making sure the bag on your back is unbothered. You maneuvered across the sloped roof to Steve’s bedroom window, knocking once before popping it up yourself; he always left it an inch or so open for easy access.

Poking your head into the bedroom, you found Steve sprawled across his bed with an arm thrown over his face. He appeared to be napping, but that just wouldn’t do. You had a bag full of drugs - the non-life-destroying kind of drugs, at least - with his, and your, name on it.

You scanned the desk just below the window you were perched in and grabbed a small stress ball; they’d handed them out at a stand in the grocery store, and you and Steve had walked away with ten apiece. Aiming for his torso, you chucked the ball across the room where it bounced off his leg. He jumped, sitting up with an irritated noise, eyes landing on you in the window. His brows furrowed and you nodded toward the bag on your shoulders.

“I brought the goods.” His lips curled up in a grin and he was off the bed and at the window in a second. You backed up and made your way to the flatter part of the roof; still sloped, but not enough that you’d risk tumbling off. Steve sat down beside you, knees drawn and arms slung loosely around them. You tugged your backpack between your legs and unzipped it, tugging out a small ceramic pipe wrapped carefully in a dish towel and held in place with a ponytail holder and handing it to Steve. He held it and unwrapped it as you tugged out a small baggie of ground weed.

“Already ground it?” Steve asked, peering over to get a look. You waggled your brows.

“Only the best for you.” He laughed; it was nice to hear the sound. He used to give out smiles and laughter like candy, but the events of the past few years had diminished the supply.

“My mom would have an aneurysm if she knew.”

You snorted. “She doesn’t suspect?”

He shrugged and started packing the bowl as you pulled out the lighter. “Oh, she suspects something. Just not this.” He lifted the piece to his mouth and arched a brow at you in question; you grinned and lit it for him. He inhaled and blinked when he wanted you to pull the lighter back, blowing out the smoke in a puffy white cloud.

“What does she think, then?”

Steve passed you the pipe with a sheepish grin. “That I have a girl over.”

“You _do_ have someone over,” you said, taking a hit and blowing out slowly, passing it back.

“She doesn’t think we’re smoking. She thinks we’re…” He cocked his head and arched his brows. Typical. Nearly twenty years old and still incapable of saying the word _sex_. If he’d made the comments a few hits later, you’d _definitely_ have given him shit for it.

“Ahh. _Gotcha_ ,” you said. You certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that, but that was a line for Steve to cross, not you; translation, you were too scared _to_.

“She did smell it one time,” he said, lips curling up in a grin. “She came in and was like, “I think that skunk is back.”

A giggle burst through your lips and soon, Steve was laughing too. That fuzziness was creeping up your neck and from behind your ears, making everything seem _better_ than it was. The cold wasn’t as much a bother, Steve’s dumb jokes were a thousand times funnier.

“Jesus.”

“Better than getting the drug lecture.”

“You’re frying your brain!” You quoted.

“Do you want to flip burgers forever?” Steve continued; that was his dad’s favorite, consider the circumstances. Steve never pointed out that he _technically_ worked at a video store.

“Without weed, I don’t think I could make it through one of my parent’s lectures. Or family reunions,” you said. Steve snorted and fiddled with the lighter, eternally incapable of lighting the bowl without almost lighting his eyebrows on fire, and you took it from him. He sent you a grateful smile as you lifted the lighter, and he took a pull. He held it for longer than he should have and the smoke burst out in a cough. He quickly slapped a hand against his mouth in an attempt to quiet the hacking, only to sound like a choking chihuahua. You fought, and lost, against the giggles, and laughed so hard you could barely stay upright. Steve’s coughing only fed off the laughter, and in moments you were both doubled over, Steve hacking and laughing, you laughing to the point of crying.

You both gasped for breath, and when you lifted your head you found it inches from Steve’s. His eyes were tinged pink and he had the hint of a smile on his lips. Your stomach fluttered and rolled and dropped all at once at the closeness, and though you expected Steve to pull away, he didn’t.

When he kissed you he tasted like citrus and spice and a little like smoke, his lips the only spot of warmth in the cold. He pulled back to look at you, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

And then he laughed. Borderline giggled, actually. It was almost unbearably adorable, and you resisted the urge to kiss him again.

“Maybe my mom was right about some things,” he said. You smiled and handed him the pipe.

“Wanna finish this bowl and make her even more right?” His eyes lit up and he lifted the piece to his mouth. At your arched brow, he pulled it back a few inches and said, “Faster we finish, right?”

You grinned and lit his bowl.


End file.
